Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae

by India Drummond

  “Correct. The intent, the voice, any contextual runes, and the surface carry most of the meaning for any text.”

  “Could it carry a message anyway? Infer some subtle communication from the subtext?”

  She considered, then shook her head. “I’d have to see the rune to know for certain, but it’s not our way. Without the magic, a rune is a shell. It has potential but tells no story, like a skeleton with no meat, no pulse, no mind or face.” She led him to the exit, and Munro started to recognise some of the early rooms he’d seen on the way in. “Have you seen such a rune somewhere?” she asked.

  Eilidh had forbidden him from speaking about the murder, but she hadn’t needed to. He had been a cop, and he knew the value of keeping his trap shut. “Just wondering,” he said. “Griogair said something once, and I didn’t know what he meant.”

  “We have a saying, as cold as an empty rune. Was that the expression he used?”

  Munro nodded. “Something like that, yeah.”

  Ríona chuckled softly. “Who would have thought?” she muttered to herself.

  He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but they arrived at the library entrance. She turned and cut him off before he could speak. “Can you find your way from here?” she asked. “I wish to confer with the keepers about our next text. I will meet you at the Hall when the boar bites the goat.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “When?” He still hadn’t learned to tell time by the stars.

  “I am the one who should apologise. Eat. Rest. I will find you soon.” She bowed slightly, then added with a low voice, “I’m finding it strangely easy to forget you are not fae.”

  He nodded and thanked her for her help, then turned and began his ascent up the winding stairs. He heard that a lot from faeries. They were surprised at how much he’d started to look like them. His skin, his eyes, even the small points on his ears. He’d have thought that as soon as he opened his mouth, they’d have trouble forgetting what he was. He supposed it went to show that humans and faeries might have some cultural differences, but once they got past them, they weren’t that different.

  When he arrived at the gates to the Caledonian Hall, a steward informed him he had a message from Eilidh. The queen, the messenger said, would be visiting several small Caledonian cities with her consort and would not require his presence until they returned.

  He glanced in the direction of the portal. How long would he be without her, without feeling much beyond her presence or hearing her voice? Why would she do this? He went over their recent conversations in his mind. They hadn’t had an argument. Besides Leith’s murder, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He debated returning to the courtyard and passing through the portal. He wouldn’t have to follow her. Their bond would tell him where she was and how she felt the instant he set foot in the kingdom. He wanted some reassurance she was all right.

  With a shake of his head, he thanked the messenger and entered the Hall. Of course she would be fine. She travelled with Griogair and was surrounded by Watchers, elders, and advisors.

  For some reason, those reassurances didn’t quiet his doubts.

  Chapter 7

  Flùranach’s head blazed with pain. Distant voices beckoned, but exhaustion kept her from trying to understand them. Her neck ached and shards of bright light filtered through her eyelids, piercing her eyes. How many days had passed?

  She opened her mouth but only managed a croaking whisper.

  “Here,” a woman’s voice said soothingly. “Some nectar will help.”

  The woman slipped her hand behind Flùranach’s head and tilted it. Drops of silky, sweet liquid spread warmth as they dribbled past her lips.

  The whispers returned, coming from another place, another time. Flùranach wanted to shut them out, but they wouldn’t relent. What were they saying?

  Blackness enveloped her again, and the dark places teemed.

  ∞

  For two weeks, Munro and Ríona returned to the library every night and worked until nearly dawn, taking breaks during the night only to eat. After two nights, he’d begun using the Watchers at the Hall to relay messages to Eilidh, to ask if she had returned and wanted him back in Caledonia. He received quick replies telling him she was travelling, busy with matters of state, and suggested he continue his studies. After five nights, a steward brought a sealed message. He opened it in his private room in the Caledonian Hall. Immediately, he recognised her light, flowing handwriting.

  I too find it difficult to be parted, my druid, especially since the portal has dampened our connection, but these are difficult times. My current travels will keep me away from Canton Dreich for at least another quarter moon. I will send for you when the time is right. Please do not relay any more messages until then, unless your need is urgent. You must understand.

  Do not try too hard to interpret my words, as I know is your way.

  She signed the letter with the same rune that appeared on her token. He stared at the glyph. Something stirred within him. Even though it took the same form as her name, he discerned immediately this signature didn’t mean eilidh, but he wasn’t certain how he knew. He read the note again, this time noticing a smudge under the phrase interpret my words. Was this Eilidh’s way of sending him a coded message?

  He couldn’t ask Ríona. His instincts told him the message was for him alone. But Eilidh knew he couldn’t hear the magic in runes, so how could she expect him to translate it? He considered folding the paper in half and showing Ríona only the signature, but she likely would ask where the message came from and who wrote it.

  The image of the rune danced in his head and pulled at his heart. Something lived in the marks on the page, but he couldn’t complete the puzzle.

  He continued going to the library every night with Ríona. They listened to thirty-seven more rune groups, each an earlier part of history than the one before. Fascinating stuff, but so far their work hadn’t brought them any closer to learning about druidic magic. When he was alone, Munro would pull Eilidh’s letter out of his pocket and stare at her signature. Why did it call to him? The rune seemed to burn on the page, kindling an image of the passion he and Eilidh shared.

  Trying to keep focused on his work, he couldn’t help but wonder what they were actually looking for, night after night. So when he next met Ríona in the library, he asked her, “What is the rune for bonding?”

  She glanced at him with a slight frown he couldn’t interpret. “We have many,” she said cautiously. “Every union has a story. I would need to know the tale.”

  He nodded but didn’t answer. He wanted to tell her about the ancient words he and Eilidh had said to one another, but something told him to wait. Many faeries reacted strongly when they realised the level of commitment he and Eilidh had forced upon them with the ritual. He didn’t want to distract from the purpose at hand.

  “What about the symbol for druid?”

  “Come,” she said. “Let me take you to the room where we introduce fae students to listening.”

  Instead of going to the back rooms as usual, she took him behind the stairs to a long corridor. It appeared much like chambers on the far side. Within each, groups of faeries gathered around rune pillars.

  “These are teaching stones,” Ríona explained. “They do not tell stories. Tutors and mentors use them to illustrate how runes work together.”

  She guided him to an empty side room. They sat at a low, smooth table covered with blank slates of many varieties: wood, grey stone, sandstone, even glass. A neat tray held tools like small, straight wands the size of a pencil, each with a differently shaped tip.

  “I must confess, I’m not a gifted creator. Few fae are anymore. The talent has grown thin in our bloodlines. All the more reason we treasure the ancient stones.” She chose a stone tablet and a stylus with a wide nib. Her hand floated over the stone, and she pressed. “I can show you the markings at least.” The hard surface gave way under her fingers like putty. A series of lines began to take shape. For
long minutes, she fully formed the one symbol. When she completed it, Ríona held the tablet up to show him. “Druid. Sglàbhadh,” she said.

  “No,” Munro said, reaching for the stone.

  She blinked slowly. “No?” Her lips curved into a smile. “I think you will find…”

  “Show me the rune for passion,” he said, cutting her off. When she moved to take a new stone slab, he shook his head. “Wood, or paper if you have it.”

  With a slight shrug, she indicated a wooden sheet. “This one?”

  He ran his fingers over the various pieces and selected a thin and delicate one just thick enough to bear the pressure. As soon as the stylus touched the surface, he knew she had it wrong. “Passion,” he said again.

  “That’s what I’m writing.”

  He stared into her eyes. “Love that envelops you to the point of obsession.” He put his hand over his heart, covering Eilidh’s letter, hidden in his inside pocket. He thought about her signature and all the intent he could muster.

  Ríona flushed as she chose a different stylus. Munro’s frustration grew. She worked too slowly, and was still off the mark.

  “Better,” he said, “but not quite right.” He heard footfalls behind him and recognised the keeper’s voice, but he was too enraptured to respond. He was onto something important but couldn’t quite put a finger on it. He feared if he stopped, it would fade like a dream upon waking.

  He chose another small piece of wood and took up a tapered-end stylus. He knew this rune well, but instead of trying to recreate the symbol, he felt for the flows. Stone was his native element, so working with wood felt awkward, but this was the right medium for this thought. He pressed the tool against the surface. “Not a crush or an infatuation,” he explained as he closed his eyes and worked, “but a passion that burns, smoulders, and consumes.” He didn’t think about the character he embossed into the wood; his hand formed the lines on its own. He lost himself the same way as when he shaped a talisman. “What you wrote merely meant affection,” he chided. “I mean searing fire.”

  When he looked down, he saw he had indeed written the character used to write Eilidh’s name, the one with which she’d signed her letter. He showed his work to Ríona, afraid for a moment he was making an incredible fool out of himself.

  Ríona glanced into his eyes as she took the small piece of wood. Was she blushing?

  “Do I have it?” he asked.

  Oszlár answered from behind them. “Yes. You most certainly do,” the ancient faerie said quietly. “Remarkable.” He turned to Ríona. “You taught him this?”

  “I…no. I can offer no explanation.”

  Munro waved their conversation aside and pointed to the stone where she’d inscribed the rune for druid. “This is wrong,” he said.

  Ríona shook her head, but she was less haughty in her denial than she had been the first time. “Passion. Yes. On that one, you were correct. We have many words. Many types of passion. But for druid, we write only one.”

  Munro backed down. How could he explain his instincts? He said only, “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “This rune also means bondsman,” she explained.

  “You mean slave?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but Oszlár interrupted. “Show us the right one,” he said.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Of course you can,” the elder faerie said. “You have great untapped talent within you. As with the first one, do not worry about lines and shapes. Trust us to hear your intent.” He pointed to the stack of tablets. “Choose.”

  Munro dug through until he found a thin piece of black shale. He closed his eyes and felt for his stone flows. This medium proved much easier, responding quickly to his touch. The flows responded to his tool like wet clay. He focused not on his bond to Eilidh, which was the seat of the word Ríona had written, but instead on the magic in his blood. He thought of the way the stone responded, and he gave back to it, listening and speaking, as though they told each other a story.

  He heard more murmurs as people gathered to watch him work. Their voices reminded him of raindrops splatting against a rock.

  He opened his eyes, and exhaustion pulled his shoulders into a slump. He could barely lift the shale. Intricate braid-work had been magically worked around the edge of the now flawlessly smooth surface, and he stared at his own work, barely recognising it. Into the braids were woven tiny leaves with curling twigs. When he tested them with his fingers, they didn’t seem fragile. They were as solid as though the rock had been sliced out of the hillside that way. In the centre was one single rune. He had carved it deep, so only the thinnest filament of rock covered the back of the piece. When he looked at the rune, he knew it like his own name.

  Ríona stared at him as though she couldn’t peel her eyes away. “Draoidh,” she said.

  Another chorus of murmurs went up around him, and Munro turned to see them surrounded by at least a dozen faeries. “What does this mean?”

  Oszlár whispered, “Sorcerer.” He said the word with reverence.

  She inclined her head to Munro with respect. “Forgive me.”

  Something had changed in a deep and significant way, but Munro was too tired to question the faeries further. For now, he needed sleep.

  “Come, druid,” Oszlár said. “The keepers would have a word with you.”

  “I’m exhausted,” Munro said, scrubbing his hand through his short hair. “Can it wait? I’ll be back at dusk.”

  “Certainly,” the keeper replied.

  Munro stood. “Thank you, elder,” he said with a slight bow. “Ríona?”

  She shook her head, looking shame-faced and embarrassed. “No. I have work to do. I…” she reached toward the rune Munro had created but pulled her hand back as though the stone might burn her. “I’m sorry.”

  Munro wanted to offer some comfort, but he didn’t understand what he’d done to distress her so much. Not for the first time, he wished Eilidh was here. She would have been able to explain.

  Munro picked up his rune-slate and headed for the Caledonian Hall and what he hoped would be dreamless, restful sleep.

  Chapter 8

  For what may have been the second—or perhaps the dozenth—time, Flùranach woke. Her eyes opened easily this time, and she felt more clear-headed.

  A cool hand rested on her forehead. “Thank the Mother. Her fever has broken,” a woman muttered, sounding relieved. “Fetch Elder Oron at once.”

  “Yes, Muime,” replied a much younger voice.

  Flùranach opened her eyes and turned toward the soft moonlight shining pale blue through the window. The shapes around her blurred as she tried to see. “You are worried,” she murmured to her nurse.

  “You have been so sick, child.” The face began to come into focus. The faerie woman sat in a hanging chair beside the swing-bed.

  Liar. Flùranach squinted, as though crinkling her eyes would guide her to the truth. She couldn’t help but laugh softly. How foolish I am. It’s not my eyes.

  She moved to sit up, and the soft, white blanket fell back. Flùranach stared at her body. Her breasts had grown round and full. How long… she stopped herself, and concentrated on speaking aloud. “How long have I been unconscious?” She ran her fingers over her features and down her body. A long lock of red hair fell beside her face. Her hair had been blonde. Reddish blonde, yes, but blonde. I’ve always wanted red hair.

  “More than a fortnight,” the woman replied.

  Flùranach ignored the thoughts swirling in her head and pulled back the blanket. She was taller, her hips curved and her legs long and supple. A thatch of curly hair covered the cleft between her legs. A smile curled her lips. A miracle. She had wished for it and something happened. What, she didn’t know.

  “I know it’s difficult to understand,” the woman said. “The change has been a shock to us all. They’re trying to find a way to reverse the process. Now that you’re awake, maybe Prince Tràth will be more helpful.”

>   “Don’t be stupid,” Flùranach snapped. “Why would I want to become a child again?” She stood and noticed with surprise that her earlier pain had faded. She did remember the pain: the dull, cloudy darkness that had filled her mind.

  Ungrateful child. The woman’s thought came to Flùranach’s awareness like an echo. Anger flooded her.

  “I know why you’re worried,” Flùranach said. “And it’s not for my sake. The child you carry will be fine. My fever was not contagious. You were a fool to take the risk though. Yes, why would you endanger the life of a fae child? To impress Elder Oron with your loyalty? Idiot.” She put her feet on the floor and ignored the nurse’s gasp. Sitting upright felt strange. Flùranach had the sense she’d spent most of her life floating.

  The nurse stared at Flùranach with her mouth agape, annoying Flùranach. “Go away,” the girl snapped.

  “I can’t,” the nurse said. She was hardly worthy of the name faerie with the way she whimpered. What was wrong with her? “Please. You should lie down until your grandfather arrives.”

  “I need to relieve myself,” Flùranach growled and stood. The weight of her breasts, the several inches added to her height—the changes disrupted her balance. She teetered as she made her way to the small washroom.

  When she’d finished and returned, she was disappointed to find the woman still sat in the same exact position. But as Flùranach gazed at her, she saw the nurse as a child, then as an elderly woman, then as a younger woman. Her baby died before reaching adulthood, she miscarried, her baby grew old. The past and the future intertwined. Possibilities, fates, all lies.

  Flùranach felt sick. Hands grabbed at her, but she shrank back from the nurse’s fingers. The contact only made it worse. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled.

  She needed Rory. She cast her mind about, seeking him out. Her astral powers warped inside the flows of time. He was everywhere he’d ever been, ever would be. Magic could not serve her now. Shaking her head sharply, she went to her wardrobe. Rory was human. He wouldn’t like her to show up naked. Such a spectacle would embarrass him. He might not want to share her body with the eyes of other men. How silly she’d been as a child, less than a moon before. How much she understood now which had been hidden from her before.